


i'm waltzing in a dream, love

by OAbsalom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Discord: O Lord Heal This Server, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Bing Crosby, M/M, Mid-Canon, POV Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 01:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAbsalom/pseuds/OAbsalom
Summary: It's the Christmas before the apocalypse, and Crowley is actually aware that it might be his last holiday season with his angel..In the hazy twilight of the brandy, he watched Aziraphale watch the snow.“Did you ever learn to waltz?” He tried to sound casual in case he needed to abandon ship. He hoped Aziraphale couldn’t read into what he was asking, but he prayed to whoever would listen that he did.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	i'm waltzing in a dream, love

**Author's Note:**

> _Written for the O Lord Heal This (Discord) Server Christmas Exchange 2019_

It had been a damn fine 10 years, getting to spend most every day with Aziraphale. As Nanny and Brother Francis, they snuck off to have clandestine meetings after hours, and now even more so as Warlock’s tutors. Crowley had been getting an odd feeling from the boy – or rather, not an odd enough feeling. They had less than a year now before their work would be put to the ultimate test. He tried hard not to think about it, but it usually crept in right as he was in the twilight of sleep, jerking him awake with a pained cry. He would find nothing but his slate walls and feel empty. Often he’d pick up his phone to call Aziraphale and think better of it. His nonchalant façade helped him to pretend the anxiety away, no point in breaking that now. Instead, he would mist away at his plants until he was tired enough to drop.

It was for this reason, among others if he was being honest, that he began staying later and later at the bookshop. It was easier to get away with now that the sun set so early in the day. Darkness was deceptive and hid his dual motives well. Most evenings, he sat in awe, pretending not to be interested in the details of Aziraphale’s favorite stories. His heart ached to be so near to him yet 6000 years and one too many poor decisions away. Even so, as the snow began to fall, a blanket of calm and quiet fell over Soho. The holidays had such a magical feeling to them, and they both thought with fondness of how the yuletide had grown along the course of human history. Each one of the permutations had been delightful, but there was something quaint about the amalgamation of all the traditions they’d watched blossom.

One such snowy night, Crowley found himself enjoying some overly spiked eggnog, listening to a particularly interesting origin story for hiding a pickle within a Christmas tree. What would humans think of next? He eyed the twinkling tree in the center of the shop, wondering what preserved vegetables might be entombed there. There was a pleasant buzz about them, making the conversation light and easy. Soft Christmas carols played on the record player, just enough to knock off the dampened hush around the shop. He was unguarded and comfortable. There was a lull in the conversation as Aziraphale revealed the "tradition" had all been an elaborate scam by the American glass industry that just kind of stuck. A grand example of humans turning something evil into something benevolent. Crowley made an annoyed sound at the righteous twisting of the tale.

They sat in the comfortable lull, watching the yellow streetlight ricochet off the crystalline snowflakes. The record player crackled for a moment as the previous tune faded out. Bing Crosby began to croon: “_Have yourself… A merry little Christmas.”_ The corner of Crowley’s mouth floated upward, and he took a deep swig of his eggnog – perhaps even a bit more spiked than it had been before. The smooth baritone led his mind to drift to a song he’d been quite fond of long ago. In the hazy twilight of the brandy, he watched Aziraphale watch the snow.

_ I'm waltzing in a dream, love_.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale looked over with a small smile in response, prepared to further discuss the merits of hiding a pickle in a tree.

“Did you dance much? Y’know, back when it was proper, and they had all those ballroom events and stuff.”

_ Won’t you make the dream come true, love?_

The angel twitched his mouth in feigned disapproval with an underlying expression of having been caught doing something he ought not. “I was known to do so, on occasion. I could hardly cause a scene by refusing!” He defended.

The warm haze blended with the smooth notes in the air, dampened by the building snow outside. Crowley blinked slowly, more like a cat than a wily serpent, at Aziraphale’s sheepish face. If this could be their last holiday, it was now or never.

_ Hold me in your heart and never let me free_

“Did you ever learn to waltz?” He tried to sound casual in case he needed to abandon ship. He hoped Aziraphale couldn’t read into what he was asking, but he prayed to whoever would listen that he did.

The angel’s eyes didn’t betray either. He puckered his lips in thought and shook his head shortly. “I never did, in fact. Too many fads come and go to put much effort into them.”

“Well, it’s mostly out of fashion now,” Crowley admitted. “I don’t exactly have a lot of rhythm, but I know the steps.” He swung himself unsteadily up onto his feet and held a hand out to the angel. “C’mon, I can show you.”

Aziraphale looked up at him skeptically, an inebriated glaze covering his own expression. “I can’t say I took quickly to the last dance I learned.”

“S’okay.” He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly and crooked his fingers in beckoning encouragement. “We’ll work with what we’ve got.” He couldn’t feel his heart beating and tried not to choke on the lump in his throat. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

_ Always be close to me._

Aziraphale tutted, looking from Crowley’s extended hand to his face and back again before reaching out to grasp it. The cold weight of nervousness dropped in Crowley’s stomach, but he turned up his lips in a sly grin at the angel. “That’s the spirit.”

Crowley led him to an open space near the sparkling tree, and the record just happened to slip over into _Silent Night_. “You just need to, ah…” He placed Aziraphale’s right hand on his shoulder, taking the other in his own. He breathed fast, shallow breaths. The nearness of his friend, after all this time, made his face burn. How many winter festivals had they spent together because Crowley kept showing up where he was? Memories of warm fires, flowing wine, and foggy breath on cold nights filled his mind. Customs changed, but always were the evergreens, providing life and color to quiet landscapes. If he could stop time, he would hold Aziraphale like this forever. He’d never have to know, never have to leave.

_ Won't you fill this night with splendor_

The angel glanced at their clasped hands, then to Crowley’s face expectantly. “Ah, right. What do we do now?” Despite himself, Aziraphale looked excited to be learning something new.

Crowley cleared his throat in an attempt to untie the anxiety that had bound itself there. “Right, ah, look down at my feet, and just… Well, right. Ngh,” It occurred to him that he’d never actually _taught_ anyone to do this before. Aziraphale giggled a tipsy giggle, watching feet that weren’t moving. The encouraging sound gave Crowley the confidence to face down Heaven and Hell and Earth. But for now, he only needed enough to start moving. He’d just said it, hadn’t he? What’s the worst that could happen?

_ With your kisses sweet and tender?_

“It’s really just a back and forth sort of thing. You step back when I step forward type of deal. You’ll have to let me drive, though.” He gave a brittle grin, but Aziraphale was still watching his feet.

It took a few stuttering steps to even figure out how to move with one another. Aziraphale was right, he was rubbish at this, and Crowley couldn’t keep time. But they were moving, together, step in foolish misstep. When Aziraphale finally felt he could make the steps without watching and raised his head, Crowley turned his own politely away, as he’d learned so many decades ago. A sloppy, gentle smile smudged across his face.

“This is actually quite fun! I, oh-!” Aziraphale declared, stepping on Crowley’s feet for the hundredth time in _O Holy Night_. The demon didn’t even notice. Aziraphale giggled again, seeming a little more drunk than he had an excuse to be. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

_ Let me hear you whisper ‘I surrender!’_

Crowley bit his lip and twitched the shoulder being held by the man he loved. “Dunno. Always wanted to. Guess I never got the courage to ask before.” He felt the mood shift, and his companion fell silent. Dread plinked through his ribcage, and the shallow breathing picked up again. Too honest. And yet, he couldn’t help himself. Stopping now wasn’t an option.

_Silver Bells_ began rolling out of the gramophone, much more slowly than Bing ever recorded it. He moved his shaky right hand to Aziraphale’s hip and pulled him closer, stopping their waltz. A beat hung in the air that he thought would kill him. The angel squeezed lightly on the hand he was holding, and Crowley gently pressed forward to lead them in a slow circle. As awful at dancing as Aziraphale was, even he could pick up a slow dance without instruction. In stiff, halting movements, Crowley rested the side of his face against Aziraphale’s. He heard a small huff, and the angel’s hand grasped more tightly at his.

Crowley grimaced in relief, closing his eyes as Aziraphale leaned into him. They danced like that, long after the record had run out. Crowley didn’t bother to restart it. He didn’t dare.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured into his ear. (I love you. I need you. I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t work and I have to be without you.)

The angel held him tighter. “Shh, my dear.” 

_ While I'm waltzing in a dream with you. _


End file.
